


Need

by gimmefire



Category: Green Day, Rancid
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-02
Updated: 2005-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>As he stood there, watching muscles shift under slick, tanned skin and eyes that flicker ice blue with barely-masked pain, the need became so absolute, so tangible, that he could fucking taste it in the back of his throat.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Takes cues from the fact that both Billie and Tim were going though some seriously rough times when they were in New York in early 2003, so obviously this is set during Billie's 'lost month' and the Transplants tour right after Tim's divorce got underway.

Billie stood, melted against the balcony and as black as the shadow that loomed above him. The shadow cast by his own hunched, small form and the sickly orange glow of the New York street below. He was black in attire, in mood, in aura almost. His arms lay folded beneath his head, lips resting against the rough sleeve as dark, blank eyes looked down at everything and nothing. There was a faint breeze drawing it fingers through grown out bleached hair.

It was actually pretty cold.

The alcohol warmed him.

Warm burning in his stomach, some deep red blossoming flower that made the lights dance before him. His eyes prickled, mind breaking apart slowly.

He didn’t know how long he’d been stood out there. Long enough for it to get dark. Long enough for him to relieve the tall green bottle beside his leg of its contents.

Long enough to begin to feel a cancerous, black, acidic hatred for what he surveyed below spawn and bleed through him.

Laughter echoed up from the street, people passed each other wrapped up in themselves or their friends, sharing terrible jokes or closely kept secrets, plans for the night or meaningless chatter that would be forgotten by the next minute. Billie could hear a woman laughing up a storm about something. Two guys shouting to each other across the traffic. Some faceless R ‘n’ B booming from a glinting black Hummer. The shuffle and click of footsteps. The general, meaningless hum of activity.

The laughter grew louder, more voices joined in. Voices trying to talk over one another to tell the next part of the story first. A high pitched giggle, a low belly laugh. And for a few seconds, four floors above them, Billie seriously contemplated shoving his fingers down his throat and emptying his stomach all over whoever it was down there having such a fucking fun time.

_Why? Why aren’t you fucking miserable too? Why do you get to have fun and laugh and have friends? Why aren’t you alone and drunk and wanting to drink more until you fall asleep and don’t wake up?_

_How fucking dare you._

_I wish I could take a baseball bat to every one of your empty fucking heads._

After a minute or two, Billie settled for straightening up and hawking a loogie down at the little gathering, before turning and stalking back into his hotel room, shadow slinking after him.

Hazy eyes fell upon the fresh, unopened bottle of red wine beside his bed, illuminated only by the dully angry orange light from outside. Billie didn’t like the light in his room. He didn’t like what he’d see if it was on. A room strewn with empty and full bottles, dirty clothes he couldn’t be bothered to pick up, crumpled sheets, blank notepads, and a reflection in the mirror of a dishevelled, tired, wine-soaked, aging punk-rocker who felt like he was on the brink of losing everything. Even as he thought this, Billie’s eyes raised to the mirror and to the faintly visible reflection. He stared at himself, expressionless, before he looked back to the wine bottle.

He wondered, somewhat randomly, what Mike or Tré would say of his state. Probably curl their lips at him, look at him with contempt, even disdain at his apparent inability to keep it together on his own. Deride him, berate him.

Kick a guy when he’s down.

Do exactly what he’d come to expect.

Maybe he was being melodramatic. Sure didn’t feel like it right then.

Defiantly, petulantly almost, Billie strode up a little unsteadily to the bottle and picked it up, digging in his pocket for the corkscrew. As he did this, his eyes found the clock in his bedside table. The glowing red numbers told him it was far too early to be this drunk and to be considering getting more drunk. He stopped and stared at it for a while, until the last number flickered and changed.

20:23.

“Ugh,” he muttered, partly in disgust at himself and partly in disgust at the hour. He set the bottle back down and sank onto the bed, head in his hands.

_When did things get so bad?_

_When did_ I _get so bad?_

These desperate, confused thoughts were broken when another peal of laughter reached Billie’s ears from the open balcony door. He looked up sharply, glaring hate with glassy eyes. He pushed himself up and stormed out onto the balcony, leaning out over it with such energy he damn near fell over the edge.

“WHY DON’T YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?!!” he bellowed, before spinning around and marching back in, slamming the door behind him. His back hit the glass and he sank heavily against it, rubbing at his head with trembling fingertips.

“Motherfuckers,” he hissed, a sob lying beneath his angry tone.

Suddenly, Billie’s cellphone rang. He raised his head and regarded the flashing object on his bed warily. It was probably Mike or Tre. They’d been trying to contact him for the last few days. He hadn’t answered once. Just to be sure, though, in case it was Adrienne making sure he was ok, Billie shuffled over and squinted down at the number on screen.

He couldn’t hold back the small gasp that reached his lips as he recognized it.

“H-hello?”

“Hey, Billie boy!” Tim’s nicotine-abused voice came through the little speaker. “I just heard you’re in New York. Well, guess what? So am I! Are you busy?”

“N-no, I’m not--”  
“D’you wanna come down to Irving Plaza and watch us? I can put you on the guest list, if you want.” Billie didn’t fail to notice Tim’s voice drop a little when he spoke again. “It’d be really great to see you.”

This was one of those split seconds where a decision has to be made that could entirely change the future for one, the other, or both of them. Whether Billie made the right decision or not, he didn’t know. But it was certainly what his heart was crying out for.

“Sure.” he replied, voice cracking a tiny bit. “I’d love to come down. I’ll be there in...about fifteen minutes.”

“Awesome. See you in a bit.”

“Yeah. Bye, Tim.”

Billie threw a striped suit jacket on, pulled a beanie hat onto his head and left.

\-----------------

Four subway stops later, and there he was. By the backstage door, watching the security guard look down the checklist. Billie faintly hoped he didn’t smell too much of booze. After a moment, the guard looked up and nodded him in. Billie ducked almost sheepishly in and hovered by the door, eyes scanning the area for...

There he was.

Shirtless, leaning against a radiator, bandanna wrapped head bobbing slightly to some unknown song playing in his head. Blue eyes focussed on the floor in front of him, the trademark scowl faintly visible on his brow.

Billie said nothing for a moment or two. Just watched. Then...

“Tim.” he murmured, so quiet he wasn’t sure the older man would’ve heard him at all. Apparently he did, as Tim’s head jerked up to look at the source of the voice. After a second, his face broke into a huge, perhaps relieved, grin.

“Billie!” he exclaimed, pleased. He straightened up and approached the diminutive frontman, pulling him into a hug. Billie returned it almost fiercely, eyes shutting tight. Each clung to the other tighter than they normally would.

No real pleasantries or small talk was exchanged.

“How long are you in town for?” Billie asked as he pulled out of the hug, voice a little unsteady.

“’Til tomorrow morning, why?”

“Come back to my hotel room after the show.” Billie replied. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was a plea or a command. “We can talk better there.”

Tim’s eyes flickered for the merest of moments. It bit at Billie’s heart.

“Sure.” Tim replied, lips curling into that same wide, safe smile.

And it was safe. It felt safe, Tim felt safe. After three weeks of being virtually alone and cut off from home, a familiar face such as Tim’s was something he didn’t realise he needed so terribly. Billie didn’t care if that smile was fake. It was there, it was directed at him, and that was good enough to keep him together for a little while longer.

Billie smiled back. Fragile.

This quiet little moment between two old friends was rudely shattered as a photographer stumbled upon them as he made his way to the side of the stage.

“Hey! Didn’t expect to see you here, Billie Joe!” he exclaimed cheerily, fingers hooking into the camera strap poking out of the bag slung over his shoulder. “Mind if I get a photo?”

“Nah, man, go ahead,” Tim answered immediately, before glancing at Billie. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Billie fidgeted with the hem of his jacket, eyes dropping away from the older man’s gaze.

“No...just wish I’d made more of an effort to be pretty...” he mumbled. Tim’s subsequent chuckle warmed him more than any alcohol had.

What happened next, were Billie in a stable and coherent enough mindset, would have been quite disconcerting.

The photographer readied his camera, stepping back a pace and squinting through the viewfinder.

“Ok, get in nice and close!” he encouraged in that same bright voice.

Tim obliged, gesturing for Billie to come closer, who shuffled in and leaned into the shot, eyes on the camera lens. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped Tim couldn’t smell the alcohol on his breath. Tim didn’t seem to, because he muttered an affectionate "C’mere," before raising his arms and draping them around the smaller man’s shoulders, pulling him in closer until their chests touched.

Now, it wasn’t this action as such that was disconcerting.

It was the reaction it caused inside Billie.

Suddenly, those tanned, tattooed, muscular arms were resting, warm and protective over his shoulders and around the back of his neck, that tanned, tattooed, muscular torso was pressing just barely up against him, and those lucid, crystalline blue eyes were very close to his face.  
And that smile.

It was probably - almost certainly - his mental state right then. But fuck if Billie didn’t feel like melting against that chest and either start sobbing his fucking heart out or pull Tim to the floor and not leave an inch of him untouched by moist, pink, quick lips. It wasn’t even a desire, it was more than that. It was a need.

Startled by the stark, almost harsh thought that had shot into his mind like a fucking dart, inexplicably fearful that Tim had somehow gained the ability to read minds in the last ten seconds, Billie froze in Tim’s loose grip. The fact that he could still feel the warmth of the older man’s skin through his clothes made his mind spin wildly out.

_This is new. This is scaring the hell out of me. I should probably run._

Thoughts that a stable and coherent mind would probably conjure. Only Billie’s mind wasn’t. Only it wasn’t really scaring the hell out of him.

Only...it wasn’t new. If anything, it was old. Maybe not quite this powerful, not quite this brutal. But _definitely_ not new.

Billie’s mind was spinning out with a sudden, consuming desperation. With lust.

Concerned blue eyes finally came to his attention.

“You okay?” Tim asked, a slight frown creasing his brow.

“No.” Billie blurted, realising immediately after. “Yes. Sorry. Photo.”

He raised his arms up - they felt heavy, he had no idea why - and rested his palms over Tim’s shoulder blades. He was so fucking _warm_...

Tim shifted even closer and rested his forehead against Billie’s, face turned to the camera and pulling the obligatory fugly punk-rawk pout-grimace thing. After a second or two as Billie’s mind sort of settled again, the younger man smiled for the camera. For the first time in a long while. And the warmth reached his eyes.

Click, FLASH, done. See you later, Mr. Photographer man. And that was that.

Moments later - or what felt like it, Billie’s mind was sort of a worrying blank for a while after that - the Transplants took to the stage. Billie watched from the side of the stage, not once taking his eyes off his friend. Partways through the set, Tim paused between songs and pointed towards him.

“This next song is for a special friend who’s all the way from Cali, from my hometown Oakland, and I’ve known him since he was 14 trying to get into Gilman. He’s been real good to me, always. Billie Joe, this is California Babylon.”

Billie smiled at that. Two in two hours, it’s quite a record these days. Considering what shit Tim had been through these last few months, it struck Billie that he was incredibly strong. He wrapped his arms around himself and continued to watch. The pit of his stomach tightening just a little.

The need isn’t for tears anymore. It’s lust bordering on sexual obsession.

As he stood there, watching muscles shift under slick, tanned skin and eyes that flicker ice blue with barely-masked pain, the need became so absolute, so tangible, that he could fucking taste it in the back of his throat.

\------------------------

An hour later, Billie fumbled with the card key to his room, almost dropping it on the floor.

“You okay there, Bill?” Tim asked behind him, a hint of amusement in his tone. Billie gritted his teeth, righting the card and swiping it viciously through the slot.

“M’fine.” he muttered curtly. _Don’t laugh at me. Don’t fucking laugh at me, Tim._

Billie’s tone must have been more acid than he’d intended, because Captain Oblivious of the Galaxy DUH (the artist formerly known as Tim) picked up on it.

“Okay,” he murmured slowly, eyeing Billie’s turned back and beginning to have more of an inkling that something was wrong with him. The beer he’d been pounding backstage after the show sort of put a Blue’s Clue out there, too. So, what’s the best way to find out if you’re right? Asking.

“Seriously,” he murmured, tone softer and more concerned. “Are you alright?”

Billie paused midway through walking into his hotel room and turned around. He was met by worried blue eyes and no trace of amusement. He felt something stir in the pit of his stomach at that sight, and it sort of made him falter. He swallowed after a tense moment.

“Are you?” he asked levelly, not breaking Tim’s gaze. He took a step back, silently inviting him in.

Confusion briefly flickered over Tim’s face, before his eyes found the floor. He made no reply, only walking forward into Billie’s room and quietly closing the door behind him.

“Quite a party in here,” Tim said carefully.

Billie blinked and squinted as the older man flipped on the light. Shards of green reflected across the carpet, the bed, bottles arranged like an accidental art piece around the room.

“Yeah. Party.” Billie replied. He remembered the incident between the bottle and the wall just as Tim noticed the remains, glittering green jewels piled against the baseboard.

“Uh...”

“I got kinda mad.”

“Yeah.”

After a moment, Billie’s hazy eyes moved around the room to settle on the shit-strewn bed. He grunted and shuffled forward, pushing things off the bed onto the floor and making it the only clear spot in the entire room. When he was satisfied, he turned to Tim.

“Have a seat.”

Tim raised his eyebrows, but obeyed, shouldering off his jacket. Billie’s eyes lingered over his arms, following the lines as they shifted over muscle. They raised to his neck, the spider tattoo, then to his face, to the ice blue eyes looking around for a spot to lay his jacket - eventually giving up and letting the thing fall to the floor by his feet. Suddenly those eyes were looking right back at him. It was probably the alcohol singing through his system, but Billie didn’t look away. He boldly held Tim’s gaze, not saying a word.

Tim became a little unnerved by the intensity of Billie’s gaze, audacious but totally enigmatic. He tried to read past those wide hazel eyes, without success.

The air crackled.

Billie moved suddenly, turning around and walking back towards the door. He stopped just short and flicked off the light switch again.

“The light hurts my eyes.” he explained without prompting. “D’you wanna drink?”

“You got any Mountain Dew around here?”

Billie moved to the side of the bed, bending down and picking up a half-empty bottle of wine, waving it slightly in his grasp, the contents sloshing loudly.

“That’s not what I meant, Tim,” he said quietly.

Tim stared incredulously at Billie, at his half-visible face in the poor light, at those unusually darker eyes.

“No,” he answered dumbly after a few moments. When he realised Billie wasn’t kidding.

He was even more surprised by the almost distasteful look he received for his refusal. Billie then lifted the bottle to his lips, upending it and gulping down a few mouthfuls, a glistening trail of wine leaking out of the corner of his mouth. He then moved back towards the bed, sitting next to Tim. The older man watched him the whole time, part concerned, part annoyed.  
“Billie, what the hell--”

“So, how have you been?” Billie interrupted, an almost sarcastically airy tone to his voice.

“Okay, I guess,” Tim replied warily, the frown not leaving his brow. His eyes found the floor, and his voice softened a little. “I mean, as okay as I can be...”

Billie wiped the trail of wine from his mouth with his sleeve, before limply pulling off the beanie hat on his head, ruffling his hand through now unkempt hair.

“Right,” he paused. “Have you spoken to her at all?”

Tim sighed painfully, not particularly wanting to talk about it.

“Once...”

“I heard she took your cats.”

“Yeah, she did. What’s all this about?”

Billie didn’t reply. Instead he swigged from the bottle again and turned to face Tim a little more, eyes trained on his face.

“I heard she was having an affair with that Josh Homme guy.” he murmured.

A pained scowl crossed Tim’s face, and Billie saw his jaw clench.

“Billie, I don’t know what your doing, but stop it,” he muttered, tone on a knife-edge between pleading and threatening.

Billie leaned in a little closer to Tim, ignoring his request completely.

“Well, was she? I mean, was she just makin’ out with him, seein’ him now and then, or was she fuckin’ him?”

Tim’s eyes flicked up to meet Billie’s, a glare turning his eyes cold.

“Stop it,” he said quietly. This time, it was definitely threatening.

Billie heeded his words, at least for a few moments. Maybe it was just that he hadn't figured out what to say next, where to probe. Maybe he was actually fearful of what lay behind Tim’s tone. The sounds of the New York night filled their ears in the temporary silence.

Billie swore right then that he could still hear that incessant, full laughter rising up from the streets below. And he would never acknowledge it, but it was almost certainly what made him speak again - anything to drown it out.

“Do you still love her?” he asked quietly.

Tim, by now perhaps tired of the whole thing and just wanting Billie to be satisfied so he could go and forget this unpleasantness ever happened between them, relented.

He nodded a tiny bit.

A hint of earnestness crept into Billie’s tone when he spoke again, almost immediately. His hazy eyes focussed as intently as they could on Tim’s now averted eyes.

“D-d’you feel like you’re losing a part of you?”

“What the fuck is all this in aid of?” Tim asked suddenly, now visibly irritated and ignoring Billie’s question totally.

Billie felt mildly cowed under those sharp blue eyes turned on him, demanding an answer. His own eyes fell to the carpet, rim of the bottle pressing against his chin and making his bottom lip jut out a little. It was probably fair to tell Tim at least a little of what was going on.

Much as it felt like a crowbar to the heart with every word that fell limply from his lips.  
Because that was admitting it was true, it was real.

That was admitting there was a problem that he couldn’t get away from anymore - however far across the country he flung himself.

“I feel like I’m losing my band,” he confessed, voice soft and broken. “And it feels like there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Tim barely restrained a sneer, instead choosing to lace his tone with bitter incredulity.

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about loss.”

When Billie’s eyes raised, Tim found it hard not to fall back slightly. His hazels were staring, wider and brighter than they’d ever been. He looked down again only to deposit the bottle safely and calmly, before looking Tim right in the eye again. Such was the hypnotic brightness of those hazel eyes, Tim made no preparation - hell, didn’t even see - Billie’s raised hand accelerating towards his face until it collided with his with some force and the sharp smack echoed around the room.

Just as it began to formulate in Tim’s brain that yes, he had just been slapped hard, Billie spoke, voice barbed with tearful ferocity.

“ _Loss_?!” he leaned closer, hand reaching out and grasping at Tim’s wrist. “20 years ago. 20 years ago my father died and my family fell apart. He _died_ and I never even _dealt_ with it.” He relinquished his grip a little, the spark fading back to a hazy dullness as his voice became quiet and shaky. “And now I think I need him more than ever...”

Tim bit the inside of his lip, still angry, but now more disgruntled than anything. He’d forgotten about Billie’s father. He didn’t fail to notice Billie’s hand still on his arm.

“So is that why you brought me here?” he growled. “Some deep-seated need for a father figure that’s suddenly made itself known?”

Billie said nothing, eyes falling to his slightly trembling hand. He shifted a little closer, head dropping and barely brushing against Tim’s shoulder. He sighed, his eyes clouding.

Then Tim’s scent hit him and his alcohol-swathed mind burst into life with a sudden and violent vision.

A vision of hands gripping like claws, scraping at skin and spilling blood, oozing and smearing, lips that collided violently, flashes of teeth and eyes that burned with a desperate fire. Sweat and spit, bodies sliding over one another, slender hips, sinewy muscles, moans and wails of utter fucking ecstasy...

Billie blinked slowly, those images infecting his mind utterly. He sloped up, picking up the bottle as he did so. He slunk away from the bed, hearing the activity outside still filtering through the closed doors. He moved over to them, head falling to rest against the glass, hand raising to trace fingertips down the join between them.

Tim watched his methodical movements with increasing concern. He was about to speak, when Billie beat him to it.

“Does it hurt?” he murmured, swigging from the bottle, dark eyes swinging around to look at Tim once again.

The older man’s anger rocketed back to the surface.

“Yes it fucking hurts, Billie!” he exclaimed, exasperated. He stood up and stalked towards Billie. “Every day it hurts, and I’m just glad I’m touring, because if I was sitting at home--” he raised a hand and drew a finger across his throat, voice falling to a low growl - “I’d probably be dead by now. Music is saving my life every fucking day.” his eyes sparkled with sadness as he stared at Billie.

Billie’s eyes suddenly lit up with an earnestness bordering on desperation. He breathed one word. The one thing that had been his dark salvation these three long weeks.

“Drink!”

He rushed forward, closing the gap between them, pressing the bottle of wine into Tim’s hands and clasping them around it. He looked up at Tim like he’d just happened upon a cure for cancer, an almost deliriously happy smile on his face. Tim stared down at him incredulously as Billie continued.

“Go on, drink! It makes it better, you’ll feel better!”

What stunned Tim was that Billie actually seemed to believe his own words. What stunned him the most, though, was that Billie seemed to realise exactly who it was he was offering alcohol to - and he didn’t care.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Timmy, please!” Billie begged, as if Tim was going to die right there on the spot if he didn’t drink right the fuck now. “Trust me, y-you’ll feel better! I mean, don’t you just wanna forget all this, forget what you’re going through...” Billie shuffled closer and closer to Tim as he spoke, until the bottle and their hands were pressed tightly between their chests. He looked up at Tim as if he was in the presence of God. “Even if it’s only for one night? You need this, I know you do, and it’s ok.”

Tim blinked, pain flickering in his eyes as he looked down at the bottle. Fuck, he’d been resisting for so long...and every day only brought more anguish. Billie had only succeeded in stirring up all those bitter feelings...

And reminding him of the few things alcohol was good for...

He shook his head weakly.

“I...Billie, it--"

“It’s ok,” Billie soothed, leaning closer towards Tim, tilting his head up towards him. His heart pounded in his chest, needing to close the gap completely and feel Tim’s lips press and move beneath his, needing to taste him and melt into him, to take that intoxicating scent and wrap himself in it until he couldn’t breathe... “It’ll all be fine, you just...you have to--”

Suddenly, something snapped in his mind, and for a few moments he sobered. His eyes widened and his stomach bottomed out.

“Oh, God, what am I...” he snatched the bottle away, staggering backwards a step. “N-no, you can’t, I-I’m sorry, you--”

Billie stopped, taking a shuddering breath as Tim blinked in confusion, like he was waking from hypnosis. A frown appeared on his brow as Billie rubbed his head.

“I-I feel like I’m losing it...”

Tim suddenly lurched forward, grabbing Billie’s shoulders and forcing the younger man to look at him.

“Why are you doing this?!” he practically bellowed. Rage bloomed through him at being taunted with alcohol, and the fact that it was Billie taunting him made it burn all the more.  
The bottle fell from Billie’s grasp as he was shaken, bouncing off the carpet and sending a sparkling arc of liquid spilling into the air. He barely noticed, held by a vice like grip and fiery blue eyes that glared him through fifteen floors.

He quailed only for a moment.

“I need you!” he cried. Confusion smothered some of the rage in Tim’s eyes before a desperate Billie continued. “I need you...to feel miserable, and angry, and despairing...I need you to feel like I do.”

A cold silence blanketed over the two of them, as Billie trembled ever so slightly in Tim’s grasp. After a moment, he reached up and clung to Tim’s shirt front, curling his hands into the material and pressing close.

Tim looked down at Billie, hands slowly prising away from the smaller man’s shoulders. He paused, then shoved Billie away hard, making him stumble backwards and barely stay upright. Tim glared balefully at him, before turning away and dropping onto the bed, lying back and pulling his Camels out of his pocket, sparking one up.

Billie remained where he was, breath hiccupping from him, anguish biting at the pit of his stomach. He stood and watched the tendril of smoke curl luxuriously up from the angry glow of Tim’s burning cigarette, clawing for the ceiling and ghost-like in its visibility. Tim’s head rested against the headboard, taking a second long drag and expelling the smoke through his nostrils with a mixture of a growl and a sigh. He didn’t look at Billie. Just sat and smoked, in stony silence. If it was possible to smoke angrily, then that was what Tim was doing.

Billie watched Tim.

_I need you so fucking badly..._

And suddenly, he found himself speaking. Confessions carelessly spilling from him in an emotionless voice that didn’t even sound like his own.

“We made an album, you know. It was finished, in the bag. We were gonna call it Cigarettes and Valentines. But it went missing. Which means we have to start all over again - and...I don’t think I can. Because I don’t think I can write a song without Mike or Tré criticizing it. I can’t stand it. They pick away at a song until it feels like a total fucking waste of time, something I might have been so proud of at first. And I just feel like they set me up to knock me down, and it’s gotten to the point where...I don’t wanna do this anymore. And I don’t think they do either. B-but,” he swallowed, voice beginning to crack. “The trouble is...I don’t know what I’m gonna do...if I don’t have my band.”

Tim remained looking at the opposite wall, not acknowledging that Billie had spoken at all. The younger man swayed a little, apprehensive. After a few moments, Tim idly inspected the burning red end of his cigarette, took a contemplative drag, and began speaking himself. His voice was more rough than usual.

“My heart is in pieces in my chest. Every day that passes hurts more, it burns. Everything’s too crazy now to even get some perspective on it, I haven’t had a chance too. But I think that’s a good thing, because if I was at home, turning all this over and over in my head, I would have reached for the bottle or the revolver, no question. I’ve spoken to her once, and I’m torn between wanting to take her back or choke all the life out of her. I’m glad for my band, I’m glad for my friends, but I’m losing my shit even with them. I need this tour to keep me busy, to keep it crazy, so I don’t have to think about it. But the further along we go, the more I worry about the fact that when it ends, I have to go back to an empty house. I don’t know how I’m gonna deal - and I don’t think I really can.” He paused. “I still love her. She’s had her Tim tattoo covered up. And Lars wants to break her neck.”

The air seemed to clear. But only a little.

“At least you still have your band,” Billie murmured.

“At least you still have your marriage,” Tim countered, his eyes finally flicking up to meet Billie’s.

Billie saw sadness there that had only been hinted at before. He swore he could see two slivers of light reflecting from tears, but being drunk, he didn’t trust anything he saw.

The need hadn’t gone away. Only intensified.

Billie padded forward, mind feeling like it was floating. He crawled onto the bed and curled up beside Tim, laying his head on the pillow, feeling small and utterly fucking alone. Tim, after a pause, slid down until his head hit the pillow and he was staring blankly up at the ceiling. He could feel Billie’s eyes on him, feel his proximity. After listening to them breathe for a while, Tim raised his hand and passed the remainder of the cigarette to Billie, who took it timidly and took a drag himself. Cloying smoke filled his lungs as his eyes slid shut and he focussed entirely on the fact that Tim’s lips had been where his now were moments before. He passed the cigarette back, skin crackling as Tim’s fingers brushed his. Watching as Tim took the last drag, before stubbing the smoke out in the half-full ashtray on the bedside table.  
Billie’s heart was in his throat at how close he was, where they were and how inebriating it was to be breathing Tim’s scent - to be breathing _Tim_ with every breath. His eyes fell to Tim’s shoulder, blue neon glow from somewhere outside turning his skin a ghostly pallor. He raised a hand and began stroking Tim’s arm lightly, just barely, in silence. Tim said nothing, but he didn’t pull away.

Billie’s eyes roamed, looking over the contours of Tim’s body, the cling of his muscle shirt that hinted at the defined muscles beneath, that stomach, framed by a curving tattoo like a fucking welcome banner...

He was desperate to press close, to be free of clothing and laced in nothing but sweat, to lie beneath Tim, hands on those incredible sweat-slicked shoulders, shivering and mewling softly...  
He continued to stroke Tim’s arm, fantasies whirling though his mind. He raised his eyes to look at the older man.

“Does this feel good?” he asked quietly.

A long pause, Billie’s hand the only movement.

Tim nodded a tiny bit.

Billie then leaned closer and pressed his lips to Tim’s shoulder, eyes closing as he inhaled, scent so overwhelming and delicious it made him dizzy. After a moment, Tim turned his head to look at Billie, who opened his eyes and looked right back. Billie drew back just a little, breath ghosting over Tim’s shoulder. He licked his lips just barely, tasting traces of that smooth skin.

“I can,” he began, voice husky. He moved a little closer, tilting his head up imploringly towards Tim. “I can be Brody for you. I can be like her, if you want.”

Tim stared at him in disbelief, before jerking away.

“Fuck you.”

He got off the bed and walked towards the balcony doors.

Billie sat up, hands clawing into the bed sheets, desperation thick in his throat.

“Please,” he whimpered, voice trembling terribly.

Tim stopped, and turned to stare at Billie for a long few moments. He could see Billie was shaking, bathed in that neon blue light, looking smaller than ever on that bed. Billie looked back at Tim, the silhouetted figure almost glowing in the surrounding light, eyes sparkling. He didn’t care how terrible it was to be begging for this. He was struggling to breathe he needed this so badly.

Tim then turned and opened the doors, walking out onto the balcony without a word.

Billie watched Tim rest his forearms on the rail, looking down at the street. The room filled with a blur of sounds, indistinguishable, a night time symphony created by nothing more than people living. People continuing with their lives.

Somewhat fitting, then, that the hotel room was utterly silent.

_I need you...to feel miserable, and angry, and despairing...I need you to feel like I do.  
I need you._

Billie’s hazy, pained eyes found the bedclothes beneath him. He shivered uncontrollably, and he vaguely wondered if this was the beginnings of a weak panic attack. He decided it wasn’t. He was probably just scared.

Of what, though? Rejection? The thought of going home and facing his demons? The fact that all he seemed to be able to do was make people angry or disappointed?

No, he was right the first time. Rejection. Bringing Tim here with one thought, one desire on his mind, and the thought of being refused it...it scared him more than anything else.

Because...

Where would he go from there...if nobody wanted him?

If he really did lose everything?

He needed answers. He needed his family. He needed a purpose. He needed his band, but not the way it was then. He needed things to change.

But more than anything else, more than the most basic needs, to eat, to drink, to move, to breathe.

He needed to be needed. By someone.

By Tim.

_I need you._

Billie slid off the bed, following Tim out onto the balcony, eyes on his turned back. He felt hypnotised, or drugged, like someone was above him pulling his strings and all of a sudden he was beside Tim, a little behind him, a hand raising and fingertips resting on the small sliver of skin between his shirt and pants. He felt Tim start slightly beneath his touch. Staring blankly at his own hand, Billie watched as his fingers pushed underneath the hem of Tim’s shirt, rubbing delicately at the small of his back. Tim didn’t jerk away.

He was so _warm_.

Billie applied a little more pressure, massaging gently at tensed muscles until they relaxed, hand ascending slowly and stroking lightly at soft skin.

Then Tim’s back arched, just a little, and a barely audible groan slipped from his lips.

Billie continued, methodical and silent, occasionally dragging his fingernails very lightly over Tim’s back, eyes just as blank as before.

Suddenly Tim whirled round so abruptly it actually made Billie flinch and cower a little. Only this time, Tim wasn’t glaring balefully at him. The desperation Billie was feeling was reflected in his ice blue eyes. Billie froze, apprehensive. Tim reached forward, grabbing Billie by his shirt front and pulling him hard into his chest, crushing his lips against the younger man’s like he wanted to swallow down every breath he’d ever taken.

After a moment of sheer panic in which Billie thought Tim was going to fling him clean over the balcony ledge, found himself kissing - being kissed hard by - Tim, just like he’d wanted. It took him a scant few seconds to recover and press himself harder against Tim’s chest, clawing at his sides, fingers curling into his shirt. He moaned into the older man’s mouth, eyes shut, savouring the taste, wanting to distil this moment in time and keep it forever, not even caring that they were pressed against the balcony ledge in full view of anybody, any reporter who happened to be nearby. He felt Tim’s free hand reach up and clasp at the back of his head, holding him there. Was Billie in any coherent state of mind, was he not then having his face kissed right off by none other that Tim Armstrong, he probably would have been utterly confused at Tim’s sudden turnaround. But his mind was spinning out at Tim’s tongue invading his mouth, that warm skin feeling like it was pressed against ever inch of him, at the growled moans reverberating against his chest, and at the sounds, the desperate cries he himself was making.  
Then, just as suddenly, Tim broke away, hands remaining clutching Billie’s shirt and the back of his head.

“You need me?” he rasped, damn near glaring at Billie.

Billie nodded frantically, something akin to fear in his hazel eyes.

“Yes, Tim, please, please, I need you,” he whimpered, not caring how loud he was begging. He pressed impossibly closer to the older man. “I need you so much, I need you, I need you to fuck me, I want you so badly I can fucking taste it, please, Tim, _PLEASE_ \--”

Tim scowled at him, lip curling.

“You’re fucking pathetic.” he muttered derisively.

“I know, I know I am, I’m pathetic, and I don’t care!” Billie almost wailed. “Tell me how useless and pitiful I am, please, tell me everything you hate about me, but I still need you more than the air in my lungs! Hate me if you want, fucking abuse me and hurt me, but please, please, PLEASE do _something_ to me! Do something, Tim, kiss me, fuck me, I need it, everything you have to give, I need you! Fuck me, I’m fucking begging you, PLEASE, Timmy, pl--”

Billie’s frantic, increasingly incoherent pleading was abruptly cut short by Tim’s lips closing over his. Tears leaked out through closed eyes, and he clung on to Tim for dear life, sobbing his gratitude into the older man’s mouth. Pulling Tim towards him, Billie stumbled backwards, and the two of them fell in a tangled heap on the floor, hips and elbows bruising. Tim’s hands were instantly around Billie’s head, pulling him up back into the frantic kiss, straddling the desperate younger man, groin rubbing maddeningly into Billie’s lap.

“Pathetic,” Tim damn near snarled, almost lost in Billie’s mouth. As his lips tore away to blaze a trail down the pale, exposed throat before him, Billie could only answer with a guttural moan, hands scrabbling at Tim’s back. His head was positively spinning, mentally flailing at this, the fingers dancing nimbly over his skin and relieving him of his shirt before he even knew it, the blur of movement and sensations, firecrackers all over his body, oh Jesus...

Billie’s hips bucked up as Tim’s hand fell to his groin, cupping his growing erection and eliciting a yelp from his swollen lips. Tim spoke again, and Billie was so distracted he almost didn’t hear him at all.

“You need me...” he rasped, hooded eyes sparking with lust in the faint light.

“More than anything, _God_ ,” Billie concurred, back arching, choking on his breath. Tim’s teeth dragged over his chest, scraping lightly over his nipples, hot hissing breath rolling over dampening skin. It felt like he was being attacked by a fucking rabid dog. Judging by the look in his piercing blue eyes, Tim _was_ rabid.

“Little slut...you can’t live without me, you can’t breathe without me...”

Billie shook his head blindly, so overwhelmed he couldn’t form the words. He moaned loudly, head thrown back as Tim pressed hard against his erection. Those slick, tanned, tattooed arms he’d been obsessing over were sliding smoothly over his pale torso, wrapping around him and hauling him up, pulling him stumbling into the room. Dilated hazel eyes stared up, almost scared, into darkening blue ones for barely a moment before he was pulled into another ravenous kiss, simultaneous growls and whines weaving together. Suddenly he was twisted around and almost flung onto the bed, and Tim was above him, on top of him, assaulting his senses and not giving him even a second to breathe.

Not that he wanted to. He was quite willing to suffocate, tangled in bed sheets and limbs, breath sucked out of him by this divine mouth closed over his.

It took a second to register, skin still burning and eyes closed in rapture, that Tim had abruptly moved off of him. Prising his eyes open, whimpering softly at nothing more than the ebbing sensation of the friction of skin against skin, they came to focus on Tim’s body, now shirtless, moving back towards him. He was clutching a small bottle in his hand. Conditioner, Billie hazily guessed by the shape. It landed on the bed beside his head and he stared at it, gulping in air while he could, heart occupying his throat again.

“Fuck, Tim,” he murmured hoarsely. The bed sank a little as Tim’s knees came to rest either side of Billie’s hips, and he looked down at the younger man.

“Shut up,” he breathed, leaning down and nipping at Billie’s bottom lip, before kissing him hungrily again. Billie’s hands raised and rested on those powerful shoulders, just as he’d fantasized about. He writhed, fighting blindly out of his pants as Tim purred darkly against his skin.

“Slut, little bitch, I knew you’d come back, I knew you couldn’t stand to be without me...”

Confusion buzzed in Billie’s mind briefly as he clasped at the back of Tim’s head.

“I--I...ahh...” he keened, head tilting back as Tim bit at his neck, making his stomach tighten more.

“My little girl, my special girl, I love you so much...”

And suddenly, Billie realised.

_I can...I can be Brody for you. I can be like her, if you want._

The breath hitched in Billie’s throat as he clutched at Tim’s body, the older man practically feasting on his skin, kissing away sweat and lapping at the hollow of his throat.

“I-I love you too, so fucking much, I...Timmy, I’m yours, always,” he whimpered. His hands moved to tug desperately at Tim’s pants. “Please, take me again, I need you…I need you so badly...”

Tim’s mouth moved to Billie’s lips, utterly enslaving, growling his assertion as he pushed down his pants, kicking them off.

“Mine, mine and nobody else’s...beautiful girl, you won’t leave me again, will you?”

“No, no, no, never, I’m yours, please...fuck, Tim,” Billie panted, hands trembling with lust, clutching fitfully at Tim’s shoulders again. “Baby...”

“Pretty little slut, all mine,” Tim hissed, dragging his lips over Billie’s cheek before pulling back and regarding him through heavy-lidded eyes. His voice became a husky growl. “How should I make you mine again?”

“Ohhhhh _God_ ,” Billie groaned, long and low, fingers curling into the bed sheets below him as that voice, those words almost made him come right there and then. He squirmed, back arching, frantic with need and harder than he’d ever been in his life. His vision swam, intoxicated with both liquor and lust. “Fuck me, fuck me hard, I need you inside me,” he implored, voice guttural. “I need you to fill me, please, please, please...I’m yours forever, I fucking breathe just for you...”

He reached up and pulled Tim down towards him until their noses touched, eyes feverishly bright.  
“Fuck me, please, I’m so tight,” he whined, raising his legs and wrapping them around Tim‘s waist. “ _Come inside me_...”

A growl rumbled deep inside Tim’s chest, and as he crushed his lips to Billie’s, he pulled the younger man’s thin hips up and ground hard into them, eliciting a near wail of pleasure from him. Seconds later, boxers joined pants on the carpet, and Billie’s fantasy had come true.

Tim sat back, grasping for the conditioner. Feeling instantly bereft, Billie sat up, stroking at the torso before him, lips falling to Tim’s neck and sucking lightly. They moved along the skin of their own accord, until he was licking and nipping along Tim’s jawbone, at his chin, for some reason not quite bold enough to take to his lips. The wet sound of Tim’s hand, slicked with the makeshift lubricant, smearing his heavy cock, made Billie’s head swim almost to the point of nausea. He felt delirious. Or maybe like he was falling. His stomach was doing somersaults. He swallowed, fumbling for Tim’s free hand and kissing it, licking it, sucking at his fingers…dim hazel eyes danced around the chiselled, shadowed face, the glittering eyes as his mouth closed around Tim’s thumb. Those eyes finally flicked up to meet his.

“Turn over.”

Billie blinked in confusion as Tim pulled his hand free, leaning forward and nipping harshly at Billie’s neck.

“Wh--wha...fuck, Timmy, ah...” Billie attempted to ask, suddenly addled when Tim rubbed against him. His world turned upside down, literally, when he was flipped onto his stomach, forcing a gasp from his lungs. Hands were suddenly on his ass and pulling him up into a kneeling position, and before he could take a breath, Tim pushed into him with a deep groan.  
Billie choked off a cry into the bed sheets, biting them as pain shot up his spine and swallowed him for a terrible few moments. After shuddering hard and digging his fingers into the bed beneath him, and when he felt Tim’s damp chest come down to rest against his arched back, Billie forced himself to relax. He pushed himself up onto his hands slowly, almost dreamily. He dreaded to think exactly how much more it would have hurt if Tim had neglected to use the conditioner.

Thoughts fazed out of him as Tim’s hands smoothed over his chest, settling against his stomach as he began to rock into him. His eyes slid shut, a shrill whine escaping from his wide open mouth, arching and pushing back against the cock that was utterly _filling_ him. Tim’s teeth scraped over his shoulder blade, bucking his hips harder, burying himself with every thrust.

“Tell me...tell me what it feels like, how it feels to be fucked by your man again,” he hissed.

Billie’s whole body throbbed, mesmerised by every wave of pleasure that rolled into him at the slightest movement, dilated eyes watching sweat drip onto crumpled bed sheets in the hazy light. The words barely registered. But when they did, they made his stomach lurch in the most pleasant way.

Because even though in Tim’s mind he was talking to Brody, those words held resonance with Billie himself, too. This whole charade did, in fact. It had been a long time, but this had all happened before.

Only instead of Brody, he had been Jesse.

_“My boy, nng, fuck...my boy, Jesse, I love you so much...don’t ever leave me again, ah...”_

_“Never, I never will, Lint, Timmy, ahh...you’ll always have me...I love you...”_

God, it was so pathetic. But it was good, it was necessary.

“Fuck, it feels so good,” Billie groaned, pain and pleasure threading through his veins and threatening his already shaky coherence. “You feel s-so good inside me, nobody fucks me like you Tim, you’re my man, you’re--ohhh fffuck, ah...I’m your girl, oh GOD...”

Tim rutted hard into him, the bed beneath them squeaking rhythmically, headboard beginning to thump against the wall.

“My slut,” the older man murmured into dampened bleached hair.

“Your slut, no-one fills me like you, no-one makes me wet like you,I can taste you...” Billie panted, every inch of skin burning with arousal and dripping with hot sweat. Desperation turned his voice into a keening whine. “Please, please take me, need to...need to come, let me come for you, Timmy, pleeeease, need to--”

Billie sank to his elbows, shaking arms unable to hold him up anymore. Flesh slapped against flesh, such debauched noises now rising from both of them, every thrust Tim made catching Billie’s sweet spot and making him shriek, eyes screwed tight shut. Tim straightened up, head thrown back, feeling Billie clench wantonly around him.

“You need me?” he demanded one more time.

“ _I fucking need you!!_ ” Billie yelled hoarsely, back arching painfully, pushing back hard against Tim’s cock and damn near passing out he was so fucking high.

Tim let out a long, ascending moan, pounding balls-deep into Billie.

“ _Brodyyy..._ ” he cried. “NOW-!”

The second the word passed Tim’s lips, Billie was shuddering violently, orgasm screaming through him and swallowing his senses for a long few seconds. He clutched at the bed sheets, sobbing the older Armstrong’s name over and over as wall after wall of pleasure slammed into him, and somewhere in the middle of it all, he felt Tim slam hard into him, coming hard and filling him with the white, sticky seed he had begged for.

After a few moments, Billie collapsed, utterly spent, skin practically glowing with heat and sweat. He gasped for breath, not even having the strength to pull himself under the covers. Tim moved off of him, shifting away and slumping down at the head of the bed. Billie raised his head doggedly and watched him breathe and recover.

“That...that was new,” Billie attempted, voice weak.

Tim’s eyes drifted open to regard him.

“No it wasn’t.” he replied quietly. “Don’t pretend that it was.”

Billie looked away, silently glad of this unmentioned understanding. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table, before crawling up the bed, drawing a hand up Tim’s chest and nipping at his collarbone.

“Y-you don’t have to be back until dawn...right?” he asked timidly. He looked up at Tim’s blank expression.

After a while, Tim looked down at him. He said nothing.

Only dipped his head and kissing Billie hard, pulling him close.

Yes, Billie was glad of their understanding.

\---------------------------

Hours passed, hours spent not relaxing in the warm golden bathe of each other, but spent tangled deep in sheets, sweat plastering them to skin, never apart for more than a few seconds, utterly clouded with the carnal sensations each other induced. Utter self-absorbed, not a thought for anybody or anything else.

Billie stirred, not even aware that he’d fallen asleep, when the first hazy sparkles of light began glowing from the edges of the New York skyline. The sounds and smells of a new day filtered though the slightly open balcony door. Billie rubbed his head, wincing as the hangover headache began its starkly painful progress though his brain. Starting when he noticed the shadowed figure sat at the end of his bed.

Tim sat there, naked but for his boxers, once again glowing with the surrounding light, eyes on the floor. Billie sat up and watched him for a few moments.

“Why are you still here?” he asked blankly.

Tim’s eyes swivelled to regard him. Silence blanketed the room, before the soft squeak of the mattress punctuated the older man standing. A glint of light caught Billie’s eye, reflecting from the wine bottle in Tim’s hand.

The empty wine bottle.

The words choked in Billie’s throat at the sight of it. He looked up at Tim, eyes bright and scared for a few moments. Tim gave a throaty, humourless chuckle as he turned around, waving the bottle in the air.

“What, this? I didn’t drink it, if that’s what you think,” he murmured, derision in his tone. “I poured it down the drain. Dunno what I was thinking, not like you can’t just go out and buy some more.”

Billie’s head throbbed dryly, and he felt a black, bilious anger curl through his belly at being denied his alcohol to put such an ache away. He looked down and glared holes through his hands.

“You don’t have to stay,” he muttered.

“I know that,” Tim replied shortly.

“I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not giving it to you.”

Tim walked and deposited the bottle by the trash - more a gesture than anything, considering the state of the room - before picking up his pants and putting them back on.

“You’re right, I did need that,” he said simply, eyes lowered.

“You mean again?” Billie returned, eyes cold. “The King of Fuck Ups needed some roleplay fucking. I expected it.”

Tim folded his arms, jaw clenched. He glared at Billie, blue eyes dark.

“It’s your fault she left,” Billie continued, leaning forward in cruel earnest, eyes flashing as he clamped down on that raw nerve. “I know how you are with her. Maybe I should call up Brody and find out exactly what pushed her over the edge.”

The older man scowled, voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Maybe I should call up Adrienne and tell her exactly what her husband got up to while he was away.”

Billie actually gasped a little, suddenly looking stricken. His eyes flickered, Tim glaring hard right back at him, before he looked down again. Tim pointed at him.

“Don’t play this with me, Bill. You know you have way more to lose than I do.”

Billie looked up again, tears stinging his eyes. “It’s your own fault,” he hissed.

After a tense pause, Tim approached Billie again, raising a hand and resting it on his cheek. The younger man looked away, feeling his skin burn under those callused fingertips. Tim stroked his cheek slowly, watching him with sad eyes.

Suddenly Billie jerked away, eyes sharp and refusing to meet Tim’s.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled, voice tight. “You’re not needed anymore. Get out.”

Tim looked at him for a moment, before lowering his hand and turning away, finishing getting dressed. He picked up his jacket and walked towards the door.

“And if you’re thinking of giving me advice, don’t,” Billie called. “I don’t need help from someone like you.”

Tim stopped and gave Billie a look that made the younger man quail a little. He then walked back over, gripping hold of Billie’s face and glaring down at him for a moment, before leaning down and kissing him, slow and deep. Billie whimpered, almost inaudible, hand floating up to claw, trembling, at Tim’s back. Tim broke away suddenly, a sneering smirk on his face.

“Right.”

Then he turned and continued back towards the door. An almighty crash right behind him made him flinch and look back to see the glass ashtray shattered and scattered all over the floor behind him.

“ _Fuck off,_ ” Billie bit out, eyes aflame.

Tim threw one last derisory look over his shoulder. “See you next time.”

And the door closed behind him.

\----------------------------

Billie remained on the bed until long after the sun had peaked in the sky, knees pulled up and arms hugging them.

Eyes stung with hateful tears.

The only movement came when his cellphone rang. He raised his head and looked around for it, at first seeing nothing but bottles and trash and clothes...God...

Seeing with eyes that weren’t clouded by alcohol or denial or hate for the first time in three weeks.

Rock bottom, right here.

The cellphone light flashed in his discarded pants’ pocket, catching his eye. He crawled to the edge of the bed and reached out to them, tugging the phone free and looking with sharp vision on the name flashing up.

Billie sniffed. He pushed the little green handset button and held the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Mike,” he murmured.


End file.
